Page 23 of Power Play

Not good.

I tilt my chin down, hoping for a better angle.

Nope. Zero good angles.

I slide the multiple temporary extensions from my hair and lay them carefully on the sink. I stroke each piece, smoothing it out before pulling another free. With the final section out, I ruffle my real hair and sigh in relief. They make my hair full and beautiful but hurt after a full day of wearing so many.

Soap bubbles collect around the drain as I remove the grime from the wreck and a thousand handshakes from my hands. Pressing closer to the mirror, I widen one eye and then the other, removing the green-tinted contacts. It's nice not having to wear glasses, but the color enhancement to change my hazel to brilliant green is overboard if you ask me.

Not that anyone did.

Oh no, not once was I consulted on any of these 'enhancements.' Most days I don't recognize the beautiful woman staring back at me in the mirror. After several somewhat painful laser treatments, brown spots from years of sun damage and bad skin vanished. A little bit of lip plump here, some Botox there, a billion chemical peels, and months of Invisalign later, I'm this. Beautiful by some people’s standards, a far cry from the haggard look I started with. The woman in the mirror would've been a part of the popular crowd in high school, not the weird one who ended up getting pregnant in the back seat of her boyfriend’s parents’ van.

Do I miss basic Randi 1.0? Yes and no. I enjoy feeling beautiful and the new attention from men, but with Randi 2.0 comes obligations and strings attached. All this and still it’s not enough to be accepted in this city or back home, where people are waiting for me to fail.

Ugh. I rest my elbow on the vanity and cover my face with both hands to stop me from staring at my reflection. The condo, the makeover, the money—all for a chance to prove myself.

The intense throb in my head distracts me from the deep life thoughts I was falling into. I wince with each step to the shower. The large glass door whooshes open with a soft tug. Stretching, I twist the handle all the way right to steaming hot. Slow fingers release the sash knot and the robe parts, exposing me to the empty bathroom. I hiss through the soreness as I lift both shoulders, shrugging the soft material to pool on the heated tile floor. Initial pelts of steaming spray against the multitude of thin cuts cause bites of stinging pain along my battered skin.

I lean back, the cool tile sending a chill down my spine. A wave of homesickness barrels through me from the contradicting temperatures of the water and tile, the battle of the two similar to warm Texas spring days soaked in a cold rain shower.

Alone in the quiet, the steam wrapped around me like a security blanket, I replay the scene from earlier. Bile rises, pushing up my throat. My head screams as I pitch forward, palms slapping the opposite wall for support, and puke up the miniature hors d’oeuvres from the party.

Fuck, what will I do? Can I really expect to avoid being alone with Kyle for the next few months—or worse, four years if we win? There must be something to protect myself, but what? I'm weak. I'll own up to that. These narrow hips and soft arms didn't get their 'character' by hitting the gym, that's for sure.

I need a plan.

And mace.

Perhaps a stun gun too. Shooting those cords and electrifying Kyle's balls seems like a decent quid pro quo after his manhandling tonight. Eyes to the ceiling, I chant the words ‘mace’ and ‘stun gun’ three times to commit them to memory. This way I'll remember to add both to the Amazon cart after this glorious shower.

A sharp knock at the door sounds as I’m still weapons planning. With the pad of my thumb, I clear two small circles in the fogged glass door to clearly see through.

The door opens an inch or two, but no one steps through.

“Ma'am,” a male voice calls out. “Everything okay in there?”

“Checking to make sure I cleaned behind the ears? Didn't realize that was in your job description,” I mutter just loud enough for the guy on the other side of the door to hear.

“The doctor said we needed to check on you every hour.”

I roll my eyes before sticking my hair under the water. “Okay, now she's just trying to piss me off. She told me every couple of hours.” I attack my thick dark hair with ferocity, making layers and layers of cherry almond scented suds build along my scalp and cascade down my back. “But as you can see, or hear rather, I'm fine. Just trying to get the stench of almost-death off me.”

“Ma'am?”

“What happened tonight?”

If we were in Texas, crickets would chirp in the blatant silence.

“Also, your daughter is on the phone, saying she won't hang up until she talks to you.”

“What?” I growl and slam my palm against the faucet handle, cutting off the stream of water. “Why didn't you start with that?” Channeling all my anger into my movements, I snatch a towel off the nearby hook and scrub at the streams of water cascading down my body. Towel wrapped around my chest, I pause. “Wait, why did she call you?”

“She didn't, ma'am. She called your cell phone several times. By the twentieth or so missed call, we answered.”

“That could’ve been China calling!” I yell. Okay, maybe I see how Ben believes Taeler inherited her dramatics from me.

The man on the other side of the cracked door clears his throat. “Her name was on the caller ID, and a picture of you two flashed on the screen as well, ma'am.”

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